


Bad Touch

by cosmotronic



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Light Dom/sub, Scrumptious Crumpet Erin, Sex Toys, Smut, Spanking, Strap-Ons, Subby Cupcake Holtz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 10:39:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10717758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmotronic/pseuds/cosmotronic
Summary: Erin and Holtz do it like they do on the Discovery Channel (and get the munchies).





	Bad Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Hot lady banging and ~~stuff~~ fluff. Totally not inspired by that one time I bought an, um, accessory and it came with instructions.
> 
> Catch the Fight Club reference, get a cookie. Also: one count, minor blasphemy. Spank me.
> 
> Pants off. And enjoy.

 

“It’s your birthday, Holtz. I’m supposed to get _you_ a gift.”

“Oh, Erin. Erin. This _is_ my gift.”

“What? _Oh_ …”

“Mm-hmm. Happy birthday to me.”

 

* * *

 

“How does it… I mean, does that go… surely it can’t be… argh!”

Erin throws the item to the floor in frustration, a snake of leather to coil and spit mockingly at her.

Holtz is waiting, she knows, out there on the bed. Naked and ready. Fingers idly playing with her nipples, or even a cheeky tease between her legs by now. Erin’s raised eyebrow wouldn’t dissuade Holtz from starting without her. Holtz would merely respond with a wriggle of her body or a blown kiss and an implication for Erin to _hurry the fuck up_.

Erin’s trying.

Holtz had been so excited when Erin had unwrapped the toy, had bounced on her toes and grinned from ear to ear. Brilliant, bright sunshine and eager eyes.

And Holtz had pouted so sadly when Erin had hesitated in the face of that eagerness.

Their sex life is fluid, fun, inventive, but they’ve never done this before. Erin’s never had her role so clearly delineated before, never felt the urge to push and command and take, before.

Looking at Holtz in that moment, seeing the true need and want in her lover’s big eyes and downturned lips, Erin found herself craving it.

Erin’s never done _this_ before. But she wants to, she really does. Because there’s nothing she would like more than that small perfect body writhing under her touch, spine arching in ecstasy. Full lips parting, releasing sex and desire into the air with every breath.

Begging.

Pleading.

Telling Erin how good she feels.

How good Erin makes her feel.

Erin’s already wet at the thought. She picks up the harness again, sets her resolve with a firm mouth and a pinched brow. She is a scientist. She can figure out a damn sex toy.

 

* * *

 

“How is it supposed to... attach?”

“Eh?”

“The, um, you know.”

“Dildo.”

“What?”

“Call it what it is, Erin. Your dildo.”

“Um. The –”

“Of course! I would never imply ownership. _The_ dildo, not _your_ dildo –”

“Holtz!”

“Erin?”

“Help?”

“Right.”

 

* * *

 

It's done. It looks stupid, Erin thinks. It isn’t supposed to look stupid.

Holtz always makes it look so sexy, strapped around her slim hips. Holtz wears it so naturally, with such an easy swagger; it’s almost like Holtz was born to swing a vaguely cock-shaped length of silicone between her legs. Which is just insane; there is nothing in Holtz’s soft curves and understated femininity to suggest she needs anything extra at all.

It sits awkwardly and heavy on Erin, like her entire centre of gravity has been altered and somehow the earth shifts slightly differently about her. Which is even more insane because there shouldn’t be so much significance attached to a bedroom accessory.

Holtz always has fun with it. Wiggles, makes it bounce, makes Erin laugh because it’s so _her_. And then like the dropping of a seventh veil she will turn provocative, dangerous and abruptly Erin finds it is not funny at all. It’s hot and sultry and so fucking erotic and Erin’s entire body opens to the need, thrums and vibrates with readiness.

And god, Holtz is some kind of sorceress with her hips, fiery spells sparking once she starts to move.

Erin can’t see herself getting any of those things right. Can’t imagine how she will be anything but clumsy with her _addition_.

She almost says _stop_ , doesn’t want to disappoint.

Holtz is kneeling on the bed, waiting for her word, weight resting back over her heels.  Her head is slightly tilted and her mouth is a little slack and she is still. Too still, Erin fears; her heart clenches a little and she sucks in a breath to speak.

A rippling shiver passes through Holtz’s entire body, then, toes to fingers to fluttering eyelids and her chest heaves and she looks straight up into Erin’s face and Erin almost staggers before the force of lust aimed at her, words forgotten.

And Holtz licks her lips, drawn out and slow. Smiles wide, dimples and dazzle.

“Now that’s a good look.”

And Erin knows that Holtz would never be disappointed in her, would be so proud of her trying. Grateful. Holtz loves her, responds with true words and true desire to Erin’s most inexpert touch. And Holtz would never force anything she was uncomfortable with. If Erin says the word, they will stop, _say no more_.

She doesn’t want to say _stop_.

But still the toy’s weight sits on her low and unfamiliar, it moves counter to her body like something to be rejected and her hand shifts to fiddle with the harness again.

Holtz slinks forward, bats her fingers away, adjusts the straps quick and sure. Pats her on the ass and shuffles back on the bed. She raises one knee, her foot flat on the bed. Then tips her other leg, bent out and to the side, and Erin wilts.

Holtz shows her approval in the wet arousal she presents, and in her enticement.

“Go for it, Gilbert.”

 

* * *

 

Erin places one hand on the raised knee, fingertips gripping harder than they should, a reflexive connection.

“Like this?”

Holtz’s nod is lust-sloppy, loose and rolling above her heaving chest.

“Yeah.”

Erin moves closer, settles between those smooth legs spread so wantonly.

She grips the toy, wraps her timid hand around it and notes how her finger barely meets her thumb. She contemplates the angle of her hips, calculates the leverage her bent knees will give her in the small gap between Holtz’s own. Appraises their joining like a geometry problem, approaches the subject in her nervousness as she does so much else. As a scientist; her comfort, where she runs to.

She flicks her eyes between the toy and Holtz’s expectant face, down and up again, because she can’t quite believe, can’t quite imagine. Has to be sure.

“Are you sure, baby? It’s, uh, it’s big.”

“It’ll fit. I checked.”

Erin doesn’t respond, is sure her lucidity is leaking from her ears or drooling from her mouth or exploded into tiny bits of achy desire or otherwise destroyed by _that_ mental image.

Erin stares at the lines of Holtz’s smirk, watches how they soften and shift into a tiny little frown and then, a gentle smile as she searches Erin’s face and connects their gaze, one to one, blue into blue.

Holtz nods.

Holtz nods and it sucks Erin forward until nothing exists between them. Not the toy, not even the act; just two souls separate and mismatched but come together in this moment, pulled quick and fast through time and distance and empty life to entwine here, now, perfectly.

It needs only a whisper.

“Take me, Erin. _Please_.”

Erin slides her hands under the pale muscle of Holtz’s thighs, spreads her a little wider, and pushes. Holtz’s body is relaxed, almost serene, letting Erin set the pace. There’s resistance, just a slight drag, and she attunes her senses for any sign of discomfort, any hint of pain. There isn’t any, only a quiver of pleasure and warm, wet arousal.

Erin can feel Holtz’s eyes on her face, watching Erin watching it _go in_.

They settle together after a long minute, and Erin questions why she was ever nervous about this. It’s incredible.

She starts to move, small thrusts at first that provoke happy little sighs from Holtz. Then with more vigour, and it’s like sinking into euphoria.

For a time.

 

* * *

 

They’ve been at it a while, probably only a few minutes in truth but Erin’s muscles are screaming at her already and she has no idea how Holtz makes this look so effortless. And while she wouldn’t go so far as to say she has a newfound appreciation for the average man's idea of good sex, she suddenly doesn’t begrudge some of her earlier partners’ failures of stamina, either.

Erin struggles to keep a rhythm, resting on her hands over Holtz’s now arching and writhing form, hips rocking down in an effort to drive her lover to peak. She’s sorely underestimated the strength and control required to not simply collapse and grind down and crush the small body beneath her.

And it appears she’s forgotten the multi-tasking part of it, too.

“Erin. My. My. My clit.”

Erin jolts. Of _course_.

She adjusts, shifts her weight. Reaches down with her left hand and brushes her thumb over the soft folds, over the straining little peak.

“Uhh… yesss…”

Holtz curves into the contact, circling her hips towards Erin and meeting her thrusts and her touches with tiny motions, small quakes spreading through her body and a little whimper that Erin recognises breaking free. She is so _close_.

Encouraged, Erin strokes her thumb a little faster, a little more precisely but it’s like trying to rub her head and tap her nose at the same time, while balanced on one foot, and she falters and her prize slips away.

Holtz is biting her lip and forcing her body down harder now, more forcibly, chasing it, but it isn’t happening, Erin can tell.

After a moment Holtz sags. Makes a frustrated little noise and Erin crumbles. If she wasn’t so out of breath she’d have a catch in her throat. If she wasn’t already so dehydrated she’d have tears springing in her eyes. Fuck.

“Holtz –”

It’s a crack in the hot, still air.

A pointed gaze snaps to hers and Holtz shakes her head quickly. _Don’t_. She pulls Erin’s aching, sweating body close and presses a sloppy wet kiss to her cheek and a softer caress on her lips, a _thank you_ and a _don’t worry_.

She tenses, and Erin tenses with her.

Holtz’s slight body belies her strength, her slender muscles a coiled spring of potential energy. Erin knows it, has seen Holtz lift a proton pack as though it was a box of air, has felt the ease with which Holtz can pick her up and twirl her around when they dance.

Still it is a surprise when Holtz wraps her arms around Erin’s taller, heavier form and _heaves_. Holtz has no leverage, but Erin finds herself instantly flat on her back, staring up into blue-ringed black arousal and a feral smile in a face still red with desire.

“Hey there.”

Holtz drops her head, quick and birdlike. Kisses Erin’s nose, a silly little peck at odds with her intensity.

“Allow me.”

Holtz shuffles her body backwards and up onto her knees. The toy has slipped free during their manoeuvre and Erin looks down, looks on as Holtz adjusts to line up perfectly with the shaft jutting proud and insolent from her crotch.

“Erin.”

It’s only a tiny murmur, but Erin rakes her eyes back up the beautiful, trembling body to her lover’s face, to witness the rapture there. She watches a pretty mouth drop open and shining eyes roll back as Holtz sinks down, smooth and easy, until their hips are flush and wet curls rest against her. It’s calm, somehow, and the most erotic and perfect vision Erin has ever seen.

Holtz breathes in and out, once, and Erin breathes with her. Then time breaks free of the moment and Holtz starts to _move_.

She was close before and now she is desperate and doesn’t hold anything of herself back. She lifts her hips again, thigh muscles rippling, and slams back down. And again. Erin watches as she rides the toy, stripped back and shameless.

Holtz is a wild animal, head thrown back and hair like a glorious golden mane shook about her shoulders.

She moans, grunts, _growls_ , and it is loud and obscene and pure sex in Erin’s ear. The sounds weave about them and Erin doesn’t even care that she has been robbed of all control, because she could happily lie here swimming in those sounds, watching Holtz bouncing and shaking above her forever.

Holtz rests her hands on Erin’s ribs, then traces upwards over her own body, flat stomach hollowing and chest billowing as she grinds. Cups her own breasts and presses a pinch to each nipple, tweaking and tugging.

“Oh fuck! Oh fuck, Erin.”

Holtz’s vocalisations are of a higher pitch now, almost a scream, and Erin has no idea why Holtz is screaming _her_ name; she can’t do anything other than clumsily grasp at Holtz’s hips, an insufficient anchor for her lover’s ardour.

Holtz sways a little, panting and shuddering, presses her knees tighter to Erin’s sides. She almost topples, off balance and tips roughly backwards onto one hand to steady herself, body bent back and braced.

Erin doesn’t have to imagine what that angle will do to Holtz, because she can see her lover’s eyes fly open instantly and her mouth move in a wordless, gaping _oh, god_ and her hips jerk. Once, twice, and Holtz is _there_.

Holtz does scream, then.

Erin gasps and moans with her, desire red hot and purring. She needs Holtz now, needs a touch on her own body.

But Holtz appears in no condition to lend a helping hand just yet, jellied frame sinking until Erin reaches out a steadying hand, then collapsing heavily onto Erin’s chest and knocking the air from her. Her sweat-damp head comes to rest in the hollow of Erin’s neck, her body hunched and twitching with tiny aftershocks.

Erin holds her, strokes firmly over the scorched flesh because she knows the contact is everything Holtz needs right now, that Holtz needs a steady hand to guide her back to earth, that if they are not careful Holtz can lose herself between the high of the sensation and the momentum of the crash.

Erin holds her until her hot jagged breaths become small nuzzling kisses along Erin’s throat, up over her jaw. Their chapped lips lock, and it’s a slow show of passion, bruising with emotion.

They are still kissing minutes later, deep and easy, when Holtz nudges her hips. It’s incremental but obvious, and Erin can’t help the surprised noise she makes into Holtz’s mouth. Holtz rocks a little more, a bold response.

It’s different like this. Erin can feel a greater closeness and there’s a reminder of a pleasing friction too, when she rolls her pelvis up to meet her lover. Holtz hums approvingly and Erin pulls her knees up, bends her legs and plants her feet, and drives up in a single quick thrust.

Holtz gasps, breaking their kiss.

“Fuck.”

It’s slick and messy, now, the evidence of Holtz’s intense orgasm already flowed to soak the toy, the straps, Erin’s hips, the sheets beneath them. Erin’s dripping too, knows it, can feel the sweet slide mixing deliciously with the friction over her clit.

It’s dirty and heated; they are so near and Holtz is whispering filth in Erin’s ear as they crash together in small, tight motions.

“Did you like that, hot stuff? You like me coming all over you like that?”

Erin hisses in response and pushes her hips up even more sharply. She bares her teeth, nipping at lewd lips just out of reach, catching dully on the jawline instead.

It won’t take long, like this. Erin’s already most of the way there and she knows from past experience Holtz can go all night if she wants to. She grips Holtz’s ass, palming the soft flesh and firm muscle, pulling them together.

It’s enough. Holtz groans and swears softly, stuttering and grinding down, and Erin sees stars.

 

* * *

 

The growl is long and loud and gurgling and seems to come somewhere from Holtz’s midsection.

Holtz guffaws. Erin giggles. They are lying side-by-side, sweaty and sated and, apparently, starving. Holtz smacks her own stomach, a hollow echo in a carefree moment.

“Feed me, woman!”

Erin shoves Holtz lightly on the shoulder.

“Ugh. Feed yourself.”

“Eriiiinnnn…”

Erin groans and clambers from the bed, testing out her shaky legs. She starts to unbuckle the harness, fingers slipping on the wet leather.

“Nuh-uh. Leave it on. Gotta get used to that thing, E.”

“I’m going to the kitchen. I don’t think –”

“Walk around some. Feel the weight. Trust me.”

“You do that?”

“Maaaybe.”

“Fuck, Holtz. Fine.”

She pads a few feet from the bedroom, wrinkling her nose at the sticky sensation between her thighs, at the slick sheen covering the toy.

Erin decides quickly, and detours to the bathroom to run a damp washcloth over herself, rinsing it and ambling back into the hall. She tosses the bundled cloth through the open bedroom door, earning a grunt as it smacks wetly into flesh, and continues to the kitchen.

The silicone bounces with every step and Erin tries to ignore the way it pokes her thigh when she bends to peer into the refrigerator.

Erin sighs. Opens a cupboard and frowns.

Two grown women should really be better at buying groceries.

She takes a plate anyway and starts to stack the few edible items they have, crackers and a stick of celery and something from a jar and a small block of suspect cheese. She grabs a bottle of water and heads back to the bedroom.

Holtz is lying back, washcloth draped over her face, one finger rubbing lightly between her legs.

“Again, Holtz? Already?”

Holtz swipes the cloth from her face, revealing flushed and glowing cheeks.

“Mm. Problem?”

“N-no, just… food.”

“Now, Erin, we are going to eat that lovingly prepared repast. Are those pickles? Then I want you to really fuck me. I shouldn’t be doing _all_ the work on my birthday, should I?”

 

* * *

 

Holtz’s ass is hanging over the edge of the bed.

Erin’s stood between her legs, thrusting the toy into her, hard and fast and deep. It’s easier like this, Erin has quickly found; she doesn’t have to rest her body weight on her arms or otherwise struggle to keep her balance. And she can use her hips and thighs and calves to drive forward, putting everything she has into fucking her lover.

And they are _fucking_. No flowery euphemisms here.

Each slap of their skin says _fuck_ , each wet smack screams _fuck_. Every creak of the bed groans it, every filthy noise they make sings four letters like a chorus.

No other word could so accurately describe Erin’s actions as she does all the work.

Holtz agrees.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

Holtz is tossed down and pliant. Willingly helpless. Erin has pulled her hips completely off the bed, arms hooked loosely under her thighs to tilt her up, to keep her at the ideal angle to meet Erin’s firm thrusts.

Skin hits skin in a harsh, regular cadence, muscle and soft flesh rippling before the force. Erin thinks she should keep her gaze focused on Holtz’s face, just in case, should gaze lovingly at that perfect mouth and those rolling eyes and the soft lines of rosy cheeks. But Erin can’t help her sight dropping to Holtz’s chest, to see how her breasts move and bounce under the impact.

It’s captivating, very distracting.

And not helped when Holtz raises her arms above her, stretching her torso into a long curve. She scrabbles for solid purchase for a minute before giving up and clutching the rucked up sheets. Each thrust shoves her further up the bed, so that every now and then Erin has to grip Holtz’s thighs tighter and tug her back down.

Those legs wrap around her, after several minutes, holding Holtz in place and freeing Erin’s hands. She keeps one on Holtz’s hip, thumb digging into the soft skin and hard bone there. The other she works between them, rubbing over her lover’s clit before pinching, squeezing.

It's a rough touch she knows Holtz likes, from time to time, and Holtz bucks into it and away from it all at once.

“Oh, fucking _hell!_ ”

Holtz is always loud. Erin loves that Holtz is loud. She even loves the loose-lipped profanity; an unbridled tongue showing just how uninhibited and irrepressible Holtz is in the moment, how completely Erin’s actions are taking her to pieces.

An egoistic shade of smugness colours the thought, but Erin knows Holtz could never be quiet beneath her.

But what if Erin could _make_ Holtz be quiet? Would she be quiet if Erin wanted it, if Erin asked, if Erin commanded? Or would Erin have to take action to get what she wanted?

There's a filthy image in Erin’s mind, now. A vision of Holtz spread out before her like this, naked and needy. Reduced to low grunts and muffled moans around a gag in her mouth, eyes screaming at Erin, louder than her voice can.

Fuck.

She’s going to file _that_ one for future reference.

“Erin! Oh fuck. Fuckmefuckmefuck _me_. Erin!”

Holtz’s increasingly squirmy body, her needless implorations and encouragements jolt Erin back to the present and to the _loud_ reality coming undone beneath her.

“Oh fuck, Erin. I’m gonna. I’m gonna come.”

The friction isn't as complete as earlier, the contact over her clit imperfect and irregular, but Erin knows she can come like this too; the visual, the power and the joy of control too much for her simple human form to handle.

Knowing the utter uselessness of the body under her.

Knowing it's _her_ , wrecking that beautiful and wild form.

It overpowers the uncertainty, unclasps the last restraints of hesitance that bind Erin’s motions to her mind. She gives a particularly vigorous thrust and flicks her nail over Holtz’s clit.

Holtz’s body snaps to it like a command. She convulses, then stiffens and arches, only her shaking shoulders and thrown-back head touching the bed as she groans out a long and filthy noise that is half a screamed _fuck_ to Erin’s ear and half a sob.

It’s almost too much for Erin to bear but she leaps, swims in the frothy sensations, surfs her own peak like a high crest to wash over a crumbling shore.

Her thighs are trembling and there’s an irregularity to her thrusts, rhythm made impossible by Holtz’s body jerking, kicking, clamping down in the spasms of her orgasm. Erin fucks Holtz through it anyway, straight into another.

Holtz wails.

It’s not _fuck_ anymore. It’s wordless. Primal.

And Erin roars when she comes.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, stud.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Oh. Sweet cheeks?”

“Baby?”

“I’m really, really hungry. Erin, that cheese tasted weird.”

“Yeah. Pizza?”

“Pizza!”

“Pineapple?”

“I love you.”

 

* * *

 

They shower before they order; Erin first, then Holtz. They could have shared the hot stream, the steamy closeness, but Erin knows from experience they would never have kept their hands off each other and would have stayed until the water ran ice cold and they both starved to death. Probably.

Erin strips the damp sheets from the bed while Holtz splashes and sings, deposits them in the hamper. She picks up the toy from the floor, too, and turns it over thoughtfully. It’s sticky and it still looks ridiculous. But it doesn’t seem so terrifying, now.

Erin sinks to sit on the edge of the bed.

Had she in fact relished the ease with which she could take control? Revelled in the way her carefully tempered fierceness drove darker pangs of desire through her?

Rejoiced in her lover’s submission?

And if there’s a hint that Holtz was holding this back for her, until she was ready? That Holtz actually prefers Erin wild and strong and _on top_ like this?

Erin thinks that might be okay.

Holtz stumbles from the bathroom, trying to pull on shorts and a top at the same time when she suddenly stops, wet hair and one skinny arm sticking out of her tiny t-shirt. Soft eyes and a softer smile. Nods at the toy and the mess of leather in Erin’s hands.

“That really _is_ a good look for you.”

She pokes her other arm free from her shirt and steps close to Erin.

“Thank you –”

Erin silences her with a kiss, slides her hand behind Holtz’s head and tugs her lips down.

Definitely okay.

They kiss for a loving while, gentle and unhurried, until their necks ache and their stomachs call to remind them.

Erin orders Holtz’s favourite pizza, a mystifying medley of toppings that Erin has grown to adore alongside some of her lover’s more eccentric... _eccentricities_.

“Can we watch Mexican wrestling?”

“Sure.”

They sink together on the couch, Holtz curled up half in Erin’s lap, all arms and legs and hair and the soft scent of shampoo and the subtler hint of sex still there, in the air. Erin breathes it all in, reclines beneath the warmth, and floats.

Holtz stills too, apart from the slow rise and fall of her chest. Erin is almost sure she is asleep; Holtz is never this tranquil otherwise.

Erin lets herself drift for long minutes, idling along the edge of sleep until a mumble into her neck pulls her back.

“E? I’m hungry.”

“The pizza will be here soon.”

Holtz shifts, her hot breath a seduction over the shell of Erin’s ear.

“I don’t want to wait for the pizza.”

Holtz attacks her mouth, then. Erin shouldn’t be surprised any more how mercurial Holtz’s moods can be, or how quick her motor is to spark. She’s used to it by now, loves the spontaneity of it; something an Erin in another life would have run from. But still she squeaks a little into the eager kiss, moans when sharp teeth tug at her bottom lip without warning.

Holtz slides down Erin’s body, awkward and ungainly, coming to rest between her legs. She’s keen and direct and, like every time Holtz gets an idea that she just has to act on right now, she won’t be easily dissuaded.

Erin doesn’t mind though, when Holtz’s focus is directed at her panty-covered crotch like this. Her lover’s face is pressed against the thin cotton, nose nudging at her, and she’s _breathing_.

Small, clever fingers tease around Erin’s waistband, running under and over the elastic, pausing. Big blue eyes flick to hers and Erin nods her _yes_ , and raises her hips a little to allow Holtz to slip the underwear down her long legs and off, to be balled up and tossed aside.

Holtz runs her hands back up Erin’s legs, each a smooth unbroken line from toes to the crease of her thigh, her sights locked to Erin’s exposed centre. Erin doesn’t _feel_ exposed, not when Holtz looks at her as though she is of precious stones and pearls. Holtz always looks at her like that, and it makes Erin’s cheeks flame and her heart crow.

She settles back into the couch, glowing like a goddess to be worshipped.

Holtz kneels.

Her tongue is as glory. It’s a soft caress but not hesitant, tracing letters and love on Erin’s skin. The scripture over her clit, then a suck, then a careful hint of teeth. Erin melts, opening to the touch. She can feel herself getting wetter, can’t prevent her hips subtly rising to meet Holtz’s mouth.

Holtz laps up the encouragement, moving with more fervour and dragging her tongue all over Erin’s arousal, over her sensitive flesh, clit to entrance and back and back again.

Erin’s hand darts down when Holtz slips her tongue inside. She twists her fingers tight in helios gold, tugging and pressing her lover’s face to where she needs it most. Holtz hums against her, the vibrations a happy consent, and starts to press her tongue deeper into Erin, flicking and swirling.

There is skill, and then there is artistry. Holtz is an artist, broad strokes and finesse. Erin comes apart rapidly under the expert touch, clenches around the tongue fucking her so dexterously. She rolls her hips and pulls Holtz even tighter to her, allows herself to grind shameless and wet and open against the face between her legs.

She’s so close, so quickly, the pressure building and bursting.

Erin thinks she might have died for a second when she comes.

It’s bright lights and floating and she gasps a last breath and all she can hear is the final thump of her heart as time slows and she stops.

Then, like breaking the surface of a lake, the rush of blood in her ears and the air sucked forcefully, painfully back into her lungs and an insistent buzzing.

A buzzing? And a loud knock. The door. The pizza. The delivery boy.

Erin’s panic flashes.

Holtz sits back on her heels, grins smug and happy up at Erin and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

“I’ve got it!”

She rocks to her feet, bounds over to the door. Erin barely manages to cover herself in time, frantically dragging a blanket down from the back of the couch to haphazardly drape over her naked, trembling legs.

 

* * *

 

They stuff their faces with overloaded pizza slices and giggle and goggle at the masked luchadores on screen, the blue demons and the tough rudos.

Holtz is entranced, provides a running commentary of _oof_ and _pow_ and _no es cierto!_ under her breath.

Erin isn’t sure what a curtain has to do with anything, but she smiles fondly at Holtz’s youthful exuberance in the face of her latest infatuation. Holtz flits between interests with childlike wonder and curiosity; exciting, but impossible to keep up with and downright infuriating at times.

Erin would have her no other way.

Holtz has opened Erin’s eyes to so much, lit her world bright and filled it with colour.

Erin can’t imagine her world any other way, either.

Holtz mashes the last of her pizza slice into her mouth once the final bout is over, chewing sloppily and open-mouthed as she leaps up. Saunters over to the big analogue clock above Erin’s mantle. Peers at it comically, an exaggerated double take.

A quarter to midnight.

Erin is sure she knows what is being turned over inside Holtz’s beautiful mind.

She tracks Holtz’s movements, swallowing her small bite carefully and wiping the corner of her mouth with a napkin. She presses the _off_ button on the television remote. And waits.

Holtz spins to face her, a lively pirouette.

“You know, it’s still technically my birthday. Naughty boys and girls get nothing, right? Or _something_ …”

There’s an odd glint in her eye. On anybody else the look would be maniacal; on Holtz it is strangely suggestive.

“That’s Christmas, Holtz. And whatever you are thinking, I don't think it’s what Santa had in mind.”

“Whatever.”

Holtz strides back towards the couch, pulling her shirt up and off as she goes. Erin watches bemused as she grabs the blanket from Erin’s legs, shakes it out and spreads it over the carpet with a flourish, like she is preparing a picnic.

Holtz drops to her knees, thumps forward onto all fours and wiggles her ass at Erin.

“You telling me Santa wouldn’t go for a piece of this?”

“Jesus, Holtz!”

“Him, too.”

Erin swallows the _oh, god_ on her lips. Manages a strained mutter.

“Please stop talking.”

“Make me.”

 _Don’t tempt me_ , Erin thinks.

Instead of chiding further, she slides from the couch cushion to her knees, shuffles up behind her bold lover. Hesitates only a moment, waits for Holtz to settle. She places one palm gently on a covered cheek, runs her hand over the cotton to savour the warmth beneath.

Holtz presses back into the touch. Drops her head and whines.

They have done this before, but playing a different game, to different rules. A playful smack, an unplanned slap of a thigh or a rear in the midst of a passionate encounter.

This is precise, deliberate, and Erin stands on the sideline, undecided.

She curls her hand, scratches her nails lightly over the curve. Holtz breathes a sibilant _yes_ and Erin can see the gooseflesh prick on the backs of her thighs, the shiver echo through her small body.

Erin feels her own skin tingle with excitement. Anticipation.

The decision was already made, long ago, Erin realises.

She tugs Holtz’s polka dot shorts down to her knees roughly, harsher than she means to, to be rewarded with a little grunt. There’s wet shining on her lover’s inner thighs, and Erin wonders with an ache how long Holtz has wanted _this_.

“Erin. _Please_.”

“Quiet.”

The word and the first crack of her hand come together.

Holtz yelps, and it’s the same delighted noise she makes during her most excitable moods. Pleased and surprised, slipping out unbidden.

Erin _tsks_ , and there’s an answering pulse in her own body. She brings her hand down again, not hard, but enough to feel the sting on her palm. A red mark starts to bloom bright on Holtz’s pale skin, cherry blossom on snow.

Erin has never really noticed how soft and unblemished and perfect that skin is, until now.

Holtz has scars on her hands, her arms, her front, her back, even her face; small little mementoes of a life lived in the moment, often recklessly, always interestingly. Nothing disfiguring, just little white lines and pink punctuations to her story.

Erin loves each and every one, has kissed them all and heard the tales. But she loves that Holtz’s soft cheeks are unmarked, that the smooth curve and line of her thigh are a blank page. She would never scratch a permanent record but Erin finds she likes adding her mark there, however fleeting. Her own five finger signature, unique and beautiful if not colourfast.

Her hand strikes over and over, and she’s keeping count, though it doesn’t matter.

Holtz’s arms tremble and Erin’s arm shakes too, moved by fatigue and the guiltiest of pleasures.

Holtz isn’t _quiet_ , either, and Erin wonders when her request became a command to be disobeyed. Bright, happy yelps decay to deep moans under Erin’s cruel and loving touch, louder and lower as Holtz’s desire grows more urgent. Filth pours from her, a snarl, a transgression.

“Put your arm into it, Gilbert.”

Erin slides forward, her front pressed tight to Holtz’s back, hand stilled between them.

“Shut. Up.”

Holtz turns her head over her shoulder, their faces only a whisper apart. Her eyes are wide and black, a smirk twists her mouth. She opens her lips, rebellion on her tongue, ready to _push_.

Erin rears back.

Erin doesn’t know how the scrap of fabric came to be in her hand, but she will always remember Holtz’s expression as she pushes her discarded panties into that smirking face, fingers shoving the wadded cotton into the open mouth.

Shock. Disbelief. Arousal. Something else.

Holtz’s eyes bulge and her cheeks turn red. Erin waits, waits for her to cough out the impromptu gag. Worries she has she been too bold, has leapt from the edge without tying a line, but she makes no move to correct her fall.

Erin waits and then Holtz groans around the damp, bunched material. Drops her head back down.

There's a subtle shift in Holtz’s presentation, her posture easing. Melting. Her arms bend and she sinks to the floor, hips still raised. Head turned to the side, eyes open, jaw wide and slack about the gag. Her chest works as she breathes carefully through her nose.

Erin stares. She tests, smacks Holtz firmly once more and luxuriates in the low, muffled sounds it brings forth. Drinks in the flicker of her eyelids, the hitch in her breathing; an exquisite wine.

 _Oh_.

Erin runs her hand over the blazing marks on Holtz's behind. She struggles to control her own breathing, her own base appetites set loose, like a wild animal uncaged for the first time. Instinct spitting out the taste of fear.

She’s never been so turned on in her life.

She caresses her precious lover, bending over her back, kissing the bumps of her spine and the contour of her shoulders. She fits her hips to Holtz, long limbs covering her smaller partner with ease.

“Jillian… I want you.”

A check, a nod and a soft noise, and Erin starts to grind.

Their hands lace, fingers fitting in the gaps as Erin braces them both away from the floor to move as a single beast. The position isn’t ideal; Erin’s satisfaction out of reach, but she treasures the full body contact, her breasts pressed tight against Holtz’s back, her lips at Holtz’s shoulder, their thighs and arms matched.

It’s warm. _Hot_ , and sweat pastes them together.

Erin’s weight slumps them down flat after a short time, and she takes a moment to adjust. Spreads her legs, straddles the perfect curve of muscle and presses her wet centre to Holtz’s chastened skin. She’s soaked, slick soothing over the punishment.

“ _Mmr-min_.”

Erin disentangles one hand, slides it under their bodies to Holtz’s own dripping core. They are flush to the blanket and there’s no room to move, so she just presses her fingers firmly along the swollen flesh, providing the simplest friction as she starts to rock her hips.

Erin knows where she needs to go, can see her goal clear and near. She rubs herself frantically against her lover’s rear, harsh and quick and deliciously rough. She moans, names and affirmations, and it’s obscene.

And then time slips for a moment.

Her orgasm hits suddenly, but not sharply. It’s an indulgent release, pleasure and relief flowing warmly from her extremities to her core, bursting from her in waves with each roll of her hips. She can feel her lust turn liquid, pouring hot and scalding.

She slows her motions, a strange sort of satisfied pride coming over her as she trembles above Holtz, groans in her ear.

“So good, baby. Fuck. So good.”

Holtz is an over-stimulated, pretty mess. She’s sobbing around Erin’s underwear, inarticulate but obvious pleas screamed through the scrap of fabric. Writhing, trying to push herself harder against Erin’s trapped fingers, now giving just the lightest pressure.

Erin collapses, half on top of Holtz and half to the side. She strokes her love’s sweaty hair with a shaky hand, notes the tears in her eyes and her bright red cheeks and her heaving breaths. It’s too much, for both of them, and she moves to carefully pull out the gag.

Her lover sucks in air, croaks her need.

“M-m… oh.”

“Holtzy?”

“M-more. _Inside_.”

Erin resumes a motion over her clit, a tiny up and down stroke and Holtz flinches.

Erin pauses, pushes back strands of hair to peer closely at Holtz’s face turned toward her. The expression she meets is tortured, almost twisted with intensity, but her eyes are clear. Lust-blown and near-black with hunger, but sane and staring back at Erin with all of her true want.

Holtz adds her low voice, a growl of clarity to assuage Erin’s concern.

“Just fuck me.”

“You're going to be sore, baby.”

“I-I don’t care. I want. I want to feel you.”

“Tell me if it's too much?”

“I will. I just. Go slow?”

 

* * *

 

Erin’s deep inside her.

They are still front to back, Erin kneeling and Holtz pulled up tight into her chest. She has one hand on her lover’s waist to steady her, the other arm wrapped around to push two fingers into her from below.

Her wrist is going to _kill_ tomorrow. Her knees are going to _scream_ at her.

She’s too old for this.

She places small kisses into the crook of Holtz’s neck, tasting the sweat, flicking her tongue out to chase the salt. Holtz rolls into the touch, head lolling onto Erin’s shoulder and they move together in a gentle rise and fall.

There’s a caged heartbeat thumping somewhere between them, and for a minute they just breathe between the beat, while Erin strokes gently inside. But Erin’s knees really are aching, and she knows Holtz wants more from this.

“You ready?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Erin drags her fingers down and out, then slams them back in _hard_.

“Fuck!”

It’s an exhale more than a word and Erin bares her teeth on Holtz’s skin, lips curving in a satisfied smile. She does it again, and Holtz jerks into her. Again, and Holtz sinks down to meet her. Again and again, until Holtz is riding Erin’s hand and breathing Erin’s name at every apex, a _fuck_ each time she is as deep as she can go.

This is how they are meant to be in this moment, Erin knows. Not in every moment; their world and their relationship and their love is too fluid and shifting and malleable for that. But whatever they do, however they are, it is _right_.

The burn in her forearm and the suffering in her wrist are mere nuisances, nothing to detract from the feel of her love tight and hot and crushing about her fingers. Erin slides another finger in and slackens her thrusts, curling her hand instead to press firmly _there_ , the precise spot that will break Holtz into pieces.

Holtz’s babbles suffer an immediate change in timbre, breathy moans becoming harsh shouts as she starts to crack.

“Ohgodfuckrightthere!”

Erin slides her stabilising hand up from Holtz’s hip and reaches around to palm a breast. She flicks a nipple, feels a shudder pass through the body in her arms, a flutter about her fingers.

Her grasp reaches even higher, twists a helix in golden curls and tugs to the side. Erin doesn’t think, can’t remember the thought process behind her next act, can only recall the euphoria of the high and the savouring of skin and salt and sex.

She bites Holtz. Sinks her teeth into the corded junction of neck and shoulder, bruising deep into the meat.

Holtz comes instantly. Cries out and seizes, wet warmth pouring over Erin’s hand and the shorts still muddled above her knees.

 

* * *

 

They are lying on the floor, on the damp and rumpled blanket. Naked, but it’s not cold. Touching, but not pressed together. Quiet, but it’s a comfortable, sated silence.

Erin’s behind her lover, head propped up on her elbow. Her other set of fingers trace the crescent wound, the mark she can’t quite believe she has made. The skin is unbroken but there’s a distinct pattern of red and purple, blood brought to the surface to bruise already. She presses lightly, like a pinch in a dream, and Holtz hisses.

“Sorry. Does it hurt?”

“Mm. Stings. Are you still a bit hungry, my dear?”

“I’m so sorry.”

Holtz grunts, shuffles around to face her.

“Stop saying sorry. It’s hot.”

“Sorry… I just didn’t… I mean, I don’t know what… really?”

“Really. I’m _yours_ , Erin. You can take a bite out of me any time.”

 _Claim me_ , is left unsaid.

Erin sighs. Smiles.

 

* * *

 

“Happy birthday, baby.”

“Mm. It definitely was. Ten out of ten, Erin. Would recommend to a friend.”

“Oh? Thinking of pimping me out for birthday favours, Holtz?”

“Nope. I need you in peak condition. It’ll be your turn soon.”

“My birthday’s months away.”

“Mm-hmm. _Just you wait_ , hot stuff.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> It’s my birthday soon. I’m just saying.
> 
> Edit: Also I was bored today so I sat by the lake and made a [tumbling thing](https://cosmotronic87.tumblr.com/). There's really only a picture of Kristen Wiig on there. Because. You know. But you can ask me shit if you want.


End file.
